


Character Asks Collection

by missveils (Missveils)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Leliana (Dragon Age), Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Mini fics, background blackwall, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: This is where all the mini fics inspired by Tumblr asks go.Feel free to send your own questions to: missveils.tumblr.com/ask<3
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Lavellan, Blackwall/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fen'Harel | Solas/Male Lavellan, Male Lavellan/Solas
Kudos: 6





	1. Ellara & Dáire's childhood

**Author's Note:**

> "How was Dáire and Ellara’s relationship like in their clan?"

She remembers the last conversation she had with her father:

“I haven’t seen you paint your face like that since you were six, Ella.”

Ellara turned, red-faced to find her father leaning on the side of the aravel. She dropped the small round mirror and reached for the rag. He walked up to her and crouched, smiling at her. 

“Hey, I didn’t say you couldn’t.” 

“It’s embarrassing!”

He studied her face as she rubbed the dried paint on her cheek. The curve of the bow over her eyebrows, the locks of her fringe sticking to the arrow on her forehead.

“Is that mum’s vallaslin?”

After rubbing dry paint with a dry rag without success, she spit on the rag. Her father caught it before she could put it to her face. 

“I just wanted to know how it would look like. Me and the other apprentices were talking about it with the master hunter. I’ve been thinking about it and how I would like to have the same as mum.” she said with pride. 

Her father conjured some water and handed her the soaked rag. He put a finger to his lips. Ellara contained a giggle. Keeper Deshanna was not happy when her father used his magic for menial tasks. And, of course, he would use it constantly when she was not around.

“I know we will be very proud of our little archer.”

She scoffed, embarrassed, and rubbed her face clean. He stood up.

“Your mother’s clan is camping just a few days from here. I came to ask you to pack lightly. We wanted to visit so her elders can meet-”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. We’ll be back in just three days.”

“Can I just stay here? Please. The veteran hunters are going to teach us to hunt a bear for the first time. Please.”

“A bear?”

“Well, they’re going to hunt it. We are just going to watch from a distance. Please, mum will understand.”

“You’re saying that like she will be more understanding than me.” He looked at her face and sighed. “I will talk with her. But she won’t be happy.”

She remembers singing. She remembers days trekking through the forest, learning how to follow a trail. Nights sleeping under the stars and listening to the scouts’ stories. And, finally, the elation after watching them down the bear.

She remembers thinking “this is my life”, “these are my friends and my family”. She remembers giving thanks to Andruil.

She remembers the way the song died in her throat as she saw the face of the Keeper when she met them on the trail, carefully wrapping her arm around her shoulders and leading her back to the camp. 

And she still remembers them word by word. The bodies of three shems lying next to the bodies of her parents. And…?

“We could not find the little one. We will keep searching.”

And somehow that was worse.

She remembers not sleeping that night. Nor any night after that. 

Because every time she closed her eyes she would hear the cries of a child hungry and lost in the forest. And she would stumble out of her aravel, trying to run toward the trees, only held back by her clanmates, hushing her back to sleep.

And she prayed. To Mythal, to Andruil, to Sylaise, to June, to Dirthamen, to Elgar’nan, to Ghilan’nain. With a knot in her throat, to Falon’din. Even to Fen’Harel. 

“Please stay away from him.” she begged. And then: “Please, lead all human and animals of prey away from him.”

She remembers when they brought her brother back. Dirty and tired and scared but alive. 

And she held him in her arms for days after that. And she wrapped him in their mother’s shirt when he could not sleep from the nightmares. And the first time he walked into her dreams, because it was safer there, because she was there to protect him. Back then they did not understand what this was, and they did not tell anyone. 

She remembers sneaking him out of the Keeper’s aravel when he was supposed to be studying and teaching him how to hunt, how to climb trees and cliffs. And they would sit in the shade of shrines and ruins and he would tell her stories and legends about gods and ancient heroes.

She remembers how he once sat at the foot of the statue of the Dread Wolf and said:

“If I’m ever lost, find me here.”

“Not the smartest choice.”

But it was true. And she would end up finding him there countless times, when he had wandered off, when he had lost his way in the forest. And she remembered thinking that the Dread Wolf was not doing a very good job. For if you lead someone astray to the same place over, and over again, you become a shelter. 

She remembers cutting his hair and mending his clothes. 

And she remembers him placing his small hands on her face and her scratches healing and closing under them. 

She remembers the conversation with the Keeper, the night before she got her vallaslin, as she handed her a cup of tea. 

“Why?”

“Because it was my mother’s vallaslin. I want to honor her memory.”

“You are not your mother, Ellara. And she was more than just her vallaslin. I think you honor her memory just fine.”

“I also like hunting. It’s… I am happy when I hunt.”

“I like hunting too, believe it or not.” Ellara laughed into her tea. “Why do you like hunting exactly? That is probably the question you should ask yourself tomorrow as you meditate.”

It wasn’t the chase. It wasn’t the arrow cutting the air or the prey falling. 

It was the moon shining, quiet, over the trees. It was the songs. It was the distant fire of the camp as she walked back home. It was the faces of the children lighting up as she brought them trinkets she had found, good wood for whittling, reeds to make bracelets. It was knowing that they would be eating thanks to her. 

It was her imagining, wishing, for a shem to cross her path one day. So she could send an arrow through his heart before he could find the clan. 

And she remembers his brother’s face peering over the Keeper’s shoulder as she gently but steadily spread the branches of Mythal over her cheeks.


	2. Dáire and Ellara's favourite foods (m!solavellan in this one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dáire and Ellara’s favourite foods?"

_**Ellara** _

“I’ve got something for you!”

Leliana hands her an ornate wooden box. Ellara’s eyes widen as she opens it. A dozen elaborate confectioneries, undoubtedly from Orlais. She looks at Leliana over the lid. 

“Absolutely not. I can’t have this. After Halamshiral, I got sick for three days.”

“It’s the sugar, you just need to get accustomed to it! And no better way than to, well, have more.”

“I’m literally going to die.”

Ellara looks back at the pasties and then eye Leliana suspiciously. 

“Promise there’s none with mushrooms again like the last time.”

“I promise. This time I got you very basic ones so you can build up your taste.”

“Basic?”

“Yeah! See? This one is called ‘Sweet Martyrdom’, it’s a caramelized chestnut over an almond pastry with four mousse swirls representing flames around it. Each of them is supposed to represent a key character in the Chant…”

_**Dáire** _

Ellara walked back to the camp with a basket full of fish. 

“Creators, it took ages. Are Fereldans okay? They barely have fish in their rivers.”

“I think it’s the bears.” offers Blackwall. 

“Creators, that’s why they are so fat.”

Dáire leans to see the fish Ellara is taking out of the basket. 

“Those are the same fish back in the Marches!” 

“They were a pain to find, so don’t get used to them until we are back home.”

Dáire reaches to help her prepare them and falls into the familiar cadence of a task he has done many times before. Clean, cut, clean, cut, his hands moving at the same rhythm as his sister’s.

When the fish are cooking over the fire, the time almost stops. 

The glow of the campfire. 

The familiar smell of the fish grilling. 

Ellara’s humming as she carves a small wooden figure, only interrupted by swars under her breath when she grazes her finger. 

The warmth of Solas’ arm against his as he reads next to him. 

He searches for his hand and for a moment he lets himself believe they are back with the clan, together. 

He imagines the distant bleat of the halla, the Keeper’s voice, the giggles of children as they run around trying to avoid bedtime. A child, dozing off between them in the glow of the campfire. 

He immediately stops that line of thought, before it gets carried away, and reaches for one of the fish. 

“Their hair would be black. He also had black hair, then. Your freckles too, but over their nose, like him.” Cole’s whisper comes from behind him. He is facing away from the fire, both back to back. 

“Cole…?”

“You could tell him what you think. It would make him sad. But also happy. It’s complicated.”

“Such nice food, isn’t it? Thank you Ella!” Dáire raises his voice, probably too loud.

If Blackwall or Solas heard their conversation, or understood it, they gave no sign about it. 

But on the other side of the campfire, Ellara looked at him with a cheeky grin on her face before biting into her dinner. 


	3. Dáire's best friend in the Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "who is his best friend in the inquisition, other than Solas & Ellara?"

“I was wrong.”

Dáire lifts his eyes from the novel, giggling, one of his hands in the air.

“Aw, don’t say that. There is still time for the Captain to fall in love with-”

“No, Inqui- Dáire. I was wrong about you.”

His arms fall to his sides and he steps down from the chair, sitting back in front of Cassandra.

“You really don’t-”

She raises one hand.

“No. Let me finish. Don’t talk me out of it.” She takes a deep breath. “I have been incredibly unfair to you.”

_“What **haven’t** you done? Coddling the mages, encouraging them as if they didn’t almost cost us everything. Putting an elf in charge of the throne, playing puppetmaster with the Emperor. You really do have your own agenda, don’t you, Inquisitor?”_

“Cassandra… I have also-”

“No. You… You said things that I needed to hear.”

_“Did I ask for any of this? I was to listen to and report back to our clan! I was to go back to my life after this! Now I cannot do that, probably not ever. Do you think I wanted this? To be responsible for everyone’s lives? To be seen as an icon? You did not see how the future looked like in Redcliffe! You do not have to think about it every time you give an order!”_

“You have a good heart, Dáire. So many times you could have just run away. Yet you have never stepped back from your responsibilities. Even if I do not agree with some decisions you have made, you have always acted with everyone’s safety and freedom in mind. I am sorry it took me so long to see this.”

And he would have run away many times. If he didn’t know he would be found anyway, if he hadn’t seen how the world would be if he was not there. He never really had the chance. If he could have stepped back, relayed the responsibility on someone else, he would have gladly done so countless times.

But she doesn’t need to hear this. Not now.

“Thank you, Cassandra. It means a lot.”

She pours more wine in their cups.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

They sit in silence and watch the sunset outside, gold and fade-green. Cassandra occasionally takes a few sips and Dáire can see just the slight shake of her hand.

“You were wrong, though,” she finally says.

“About what this time?”

“The Captain will not fall in love with the assassin. She has sworn her love to the Duke. She has made up her mind. Her feelings for them will not change.”

Dáire laughs and shows her the novel.

“There’s still sixty pages left. A lot can happen in sixty pages.” He stands back on the chair, to resume his dramatization. “There’s still time for a change of heart, Casandra.”


	4. Ellara's best friend in the Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (off the previous chapter) "Who is Ellara's best friend in the Inquisition (other than Dáire, Blackwall or Solas)?"

“I don’t think this is the best idea, Madame de Fer.” 

Ellara sits on the other side of the chaise longue. Between Vivienne’s hands, heat ripples in the air form the shape of an arrow, almost invisible. 

“My dear, I appreciate your sense of responsibility when it comes to your magic. But your talent is a tool to be used when necessary, not left forgotten to rust.”

Ellara looks at her hands. 

“There’s people who can use it better than me, and who won’t put anyone in danger in the process. Besides, I cannot do much with it other than knock people down when cornered. I have never been able to… freeze someone in place.”

“And how would that help you when you are shooting arrows at them?” Vivienne smiles at her. “Not much use for arrows when the target is encased in ice, is it?”

“You know what I mean. I’m an archer. I’m good at what I do. Leave magic to more powerful mages than me, Madame.”

Vivienne’s eyes soften and the arrow she is holding dissolves in air. Reaching for Ellara’s hands, she holds them between hers. 

She looks to the side, at the coffee table in front of them. 

“A teacup is fragile, true, and it can break with the slightest blow. But it’s elegant. And an important tool. Safer to use than a sword.” She turns back to Ellara. “In the heat of battle, if your enemies close in on you and you cannot draw your bow. If you run out of arrows… How are you supposed to fight? How are you supposed to protect the Inquisitor?”

Still holding Ellara’s hands, she pulls them apart. Between them, an arrow starts forming mid-air, aided by both their magic. 

“In a second, your talent might be what saves us all.”

Vivienne lets her hands fall, and Ellara holds a magical arrow between hers, feels the weight of it as if it were a real one. 

“This is what sets you apart from any other archer.”


	5. Blackwall & Ellara compliments (Blackwall/female Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If they complimented each other, what would they say?"

“I wouldn’t have guessed you would know how to build like that.”

Ellara, straddling one of the stable’s ceiling beams, looked down at where he was working on securing one of the wood columns. 

“You do realise I’m holding a hammer, Blackwall? And I could very easily drop it on your head?”

“I don’t doubt it.” She rolled her eyes at that. “But I apologise, Lady Lavellan. I did not mean it like that. I meant that… You move from place to place in the forest, right? I would not have guessed you knew how to repair beams or roofs.”

“We have aravels, which are made of sylvanwood when we can find it. Their roofs have to protect us from rain, snow, and the sun. They have to be flexible and sturdy, able to carry people and supplies on them. All while moving through the forest. I think I can deal with helping repair a stationary stable.” She pulled out a crooked nail to replace it with a new one. “Fereldan constructions are so… square.”

She was expecting him to huff in disdain or go quiet but he stepped closer to where she was working and started asking questions while helping her with her work. How big are the aravels? How do they move through harsh terrain? Where do they store food and weapons? Do the rangers sleep in them or are they reserved for the elderly? 

Slowly, the conversation died out and they fell into a quiet, comfortable working rhythm where he would hand her tools and lift the heaviest beams as she nailed them together and secured them, keeping an eye on her in case the oldest parts of the structure would give out. Or at least, that’s what she thought was all he was keeping an eye on. 

“Your hands are very elegant,” he blurted out at some point while standing on a ladder and passing her a nail. 

And by his expression, she could tell he had not meant to say that out loud. 

Her face flushed all the way up to her ears but she tried to keep her cool. 

“Is that so?”

“I meant… Like any other archer, you need elegant hands to use such a precise weapon. I did not mean you are delicate… That your hands are delicate, Lady Lavellan. Though they do look…”

He took a deep breath, trying to find his words. His face was red, and Ellara could not tell if he was blushing or if it was due to the fact she had not seen him breathe during the whole explanation. 

“Thank you, Blackwall,” she said. “I think yours are very… nice.”

His grey-blue eyes met hers as he looked up. Her voice cracked when his hand met hers over the beam. Silence fell over them as she slowly leaned towards him and placed a kiss on his lips. 

A quick kiss. Her cheeks burning, as she leaned back and dropped down from the beam, landing gracefully on the floor. 

“I… Think I hear someone calling me. I… I will see you later, warden!”

She hurried away from the stable, her hands over cheeks, and almost crashed into Dáire. Her brother was staring at her, both eyes and grin as wide as his face would allow him. 

And she realised he would have seen them through the yet non-existent walls of the stable. 

“Oh, shut up!” She snapped, stomping past him.

“But I haven’t said anything!”


	6. A promise between Blackwall & Ellara (Blackwall/Female Lavellan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "What is a promise they have made to each other?"

“I know it’s not the best moment. And that after all I’ve done, you are the last thing I deserve. But I… I just wanted to say…”

Ellara held his bare hand between her gloved ones. In front of them, the Breach pulsated, emerald and ominous against the dark sky. Behind them, the Inquisition’s camp was eerily silent. Everyone moved around, lit fires, shared rations, put up tents with only a few whispers exchanged. No one was sure what would happen after the next day was over. No one was sure if there would be any of Thedas left.

“When this is over, I’ll marry you,” she said, giving him a reassuring look. 

Blackwall’s eyes widened and he dropped to his knees next to her in the snow, his breath freezing out of his mouth. 

“My lady?”

“W-what?” she asked, taken aback by his reaction. “Was that… Not what you were asking?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not at a moment like this. Not here.” He stroked her cheek. “But if you mean what you said… I would be the most fortunate man in Thedas to have you as my wife.” 

She placed her hand over his, pressing it to her cheek. Her face softened and she laughed quietly, trying not to disturb the silent camp behind them. In another place, another time, she might have laughed louder, she might have cried or jumped into his arms. But the threat of Corypheus was too real and too close, and the fear had her heart in a clutch that was too tight.

“I did mean it,” she whispered back. “Once this is all over. If we are alive. Once the sun rises against a fully blue sky, I will marry you. I promise.”

In a second, his arms were around her, warm and strong. She breathed and relaxed into his embrace. 

“I will not let any harm come to you, my lady. I swear it on my life.”

Ellara’s hands froze on his back and her expression soured, but he could not see that. 

“I need you to promise me something else,” she whispered, even lower.

“Anything.”

“Don’t say that before listening to what I have to say.” She broke the hug and pressed her forehead to his. “Tomorrow, when we fight Corypheus, I need you to focus on protecting Dáire. Not me. Don’t tell me you will protect us all, because I need you to promise me this. If it’s my life or his on the line, he comes first. Swear it.”

His response did not come instantly, and Ellara knew he was fighting an internal battle. After a few deep breaths, he nodded. 

“I swear it, my lady.”

Ellara smiled at him and held his hand, turning again to stare at the Breach. His arm wrapped over her shoulders. A quiet, deep chuckle rumbled on his chest.

“You know, for what it’s worth… I had imagined one of the mountains near Halamshiral, at sunrise. I wanted to point at the land below us and promise to do anything to make you happy. If you would ask for the Dales I would fight for you until there was no more blood left in my body. And then… I think I would then drop on one knee.”

She laughed. Loud, this time. A rustle behind her told her that the scouts back at the camp had probably heard and turned towards the sound. She covered her mouth, her cheeks going red. Blackwall scratched his head with his free hand. 

“I don’t even have a ring for you. Thinking about it… I don’t even have a house we can live in-”

Turning, Ellara put a finger over his lips. 

“I don’t need it.”

She replaced her finger with her lips and they both laughed into the kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dáire Lavellan belongs to @littlegumshoe (on Tumblr)  
> Ellara Lavellan is my companion OC <3


End file.
